Save A Dance For Me
by MissScaryKitty
Summary: Stefan found his eyes drawn to the mystery woman sitting across from Roy. All he could see was a wavy swath of golden hair until she turned her head to look at him. Her eyes locked on his and he felt his heart jumpstart in his chest. Suddenly, he wasn't so sullen about having to go over to Roy's table. Bekowsky/OC hints of past Roy/OC


**Save A Dance For Me:**

Francine "Frankie" Sharp locked the door to her flat and stepped into the golden elevator at the end of the hall. Hers was the only residence on the entire floor.

Once the doors opened again she entered the ornate lobby. Francine was greeted by the bellman who escorted her to the large brass double doors where a valet was waiting outside with her car. He held the door open for her as she slipped inside. The dark, plush interior felt very intimate, like an empty confessional.

"The Blue Room, Miss Sharp?" Her driver asked, looking at her through the rear view mirror.

"Yes, thank you, Earnie," she said, her voice soft and sensual.

She had indulged in a glass of whiskey while she had gotten ready, and was feeling its soothing effects. The twinkling lights of the theaters and dinner clubs sailed past the window as they cruised through the city towards the Blue Room.

Elsa had a set at nine. Francine had called beforehand to make sure. Roy was big into hearing the German woman sing, despite him saying the occasional nasty comment about her. Drinks, music, and a little business talk on the side- tonight would go very smoothly, she thought.

…

Roy Earle was a man who waited for no one, but he would make an exception for Francine Sharp. He knew what side his bread was buttered on. She worked as a reporter for her father, Robert K. Sharp, who owned the Los Angeles Inquisitor. They were filthy rich and had the ear of nearly every citizen in LA.

Francine had a name and money that allowed her to carve out a place for herself in the world of media. Although Roy was a staunch believer that women should know their place, she was good at what she did and he respected that. He doubly respected it when she gave him coverage in her column. It never hurt to scratch her back with some information as long as she reciprocated with a story that kept him in the limelight.

Once in a while they would meet up at a club or restaurant and if Roy had a story or interesting lead he'd share it with her. However, this night was different. Roy had no leads to give Francine- only a message.

When Roy spotted the flashy black town car pulling in front of the Blue Room, he walked up and waited as the driver opened the door to the back seat. One black silk heel touched the pavement followed by another as Francine emerged from the car. She had on a curve-hugging ivory dress that was tailored in all the right places.

"Frankie, you look stunning as always," Roy greeted.

The reporter gave him a warm smile before she leaned in and kissed the air beside his cheek.

"It's nice to see you, Roy. How've you been getting along?" She asked.

"Not bad, I got myself a new partner. Pulled some strings and had him promoted to vice from homicide," he bragged.

"Wow, you must really like him then," she teased. "Is it anyone I'd recognize?"

"Cole Phelps," he told her, knowing she had heard the name many times around the office in the last couple of months. The Inquisitor was practically abuzz with stories of Cole's success in solving the Dahlia murders.

"Ah, LAPD's rising star. I should have guessed," she replied, making it known that Roy's motives in recruiting him were blindingly obvious to her. "You two should make a good team. Very printable."

"Come on, we'll continue this conversation inside." He told her, placing his hand at the middle of her back and ushering her towards the double doors.

The interior of the Blue Room was just as the name described, with the walls and ceiling painted in a deep royal blue. It was a lush, lavish, environment where patrons could have privacy in one of the many large circular booths that lined the walls. At the back of the room was a stage where singers and bands performed sets for those who came to dance.

Much to Roy's chagrin, Francine never danced. However, she did like to drink and that was something he could get behind. The hostess brought them to one of the reserved booths near the front of the stage. As they sat down, Roy ordered them a couple of Old Fashioneds.

"The LA Inquisitor has been printing some very controversial headlines these days," Roy commented. It was clear by his tone that he disapproved.

Francine let out a punctuated laugh. She hadn't expected him to start the night off by being so critical. "You know I don't have any say in what my father prints. He has the final word on everything."

"I'm telling you to keep your head down, Frankie," he warned, his tone becoming stern. "The more people you rub the wrong way, the more dangerous it will be for your lot."

"My lot?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. "You mean journalists?"

"Is that what it is you do?" He mocked in his usual fashion. She resisted the urge to shoot him a dirty look. Francine hated when he belittled her. "Look, just create some distance between yourself and your father's crusader agenda. He's not going to squash corruption by publishing a couple of boring exposes. Whoever said that the pen was mightier than the sword has obviously never had a gun in their face."

"Is this your way of expressing concern?" Francine asked, twirling her drink's stir stick between her fingers. Her agitation was thinly veiled.

"It's my way of telling you to back the hell off of dangerous people." He snapped, his eyes lighting up dangerously.

A startled jolt shot through her at his sudden harshness. This was more than a warning from Roy. He was making demands of her. It was clear he knew more than what he was letting on.

"I'll see what I can do," said Francine, looking down into her drink.

Roy seemed satisfied with her answer, though he knew she gave it begrudgingly. If they weren't in such a crowded place, he might have been tempted to be firmer with her. But judging by her reaction, she got the message.

"Now, about Phelps..."

Roy continued on talking about his new partner as if nothing had happened.

…

Stefan practically had to drag Cole to the Blue Room for a drink. He insisted that they celebrate their recent promotions (him to homicide and Cole to vice). For some reason, Cole was being very cagey about the whole thing. But after some prodding, and a little guilt-tripping, Stefan finally convinced him. After all, what was so difficult about having a drink with a friend?

Entering the club, the two detectives walked directly up to the bar and ordered two glasses of whiskey. Once the bar tender laid down their order, Cole and Stefan clinked their tumblers together.

"Here's to rising on up the ladder. Congratulations Cole," Stefan said.

"Congratulations to you too," Cole nodded, returning the sentiment.

The two men took a sip of their whiskey. The taste was smooth going down but it still had some bite. Inhaling deeply, Stefan turned his back to the bar and leaned against it with his elbows as he surveyed the room.

"You know, if it wasn't for you rising in the ranks so quickly, I wouldn't have lit a fire under my ass as fast as I did. So I guess you're partially to thank for my promotion..." Stefan's speech slowed as something from across the room caught his eye.

"Hey, is that Earle?"

Cole turned to look in the direction that Stefan was pointing his glass in. Sitting in one of the reserved booths near the stage was his current partner Roy Earle.

"Yeah, it looks like he's with someone," said Cole. He could see just the top of a woman's blonde head sitting across from him. She was too short to be Elsa, lighter hair too. That gave Cole a bit of relief.

"Oh great, he sees us," Stefan muttered.

Roy had in fact locked eyes with the Polish detective. Cole raised his glass to him in acknowledgment. Stefan gave a sort of halfhearted wave, the ice clinking in his glass as he did. They could see Roy say something to his dining companion before beckoning them over.

"Guess there's no getting out of it," Stefan muttered. He really didn't want to spend his night listening to Roy's crappy jokes.

The two former partners grabbed their drinks and headed over to the booth. As they got closer, Stefan found his eyes drawn to the mystery woman sitting across from Roy. All he could see was a wavy swath of golden hair until she turned her head to look at them. Her eyes locked on his and he felt his heart jumpstart in his chest. She was stunning. Her gorgeous green eyes practically knocked the wind right out of him. Suddenly, he wasn't so sullen about having to go over to Roy's table.

…

"Phelps, Bekowsky, nice night for a drink. What brings you two here?" Roy asked, leaning back in his seat.

"I convinced Cole to come out and celebrate our promotions." Said Stefan.

"Is that right?" Roy smirked before turning his smug gaze towards his partner. "Didn't think it would be very hard to get you to the Blue Room, Cole."

Cole bristled at the obvious insinuation about Elsa. Roy seemed to have made it his business to know what he did while off duty. It was becoming quite irksome.

"Let me introduce you to my friend Francine Sharp. She's a columnist for the LA Inquisitor. Francine, these two upstanding gents are Cole Phelps and Stefan Bekowsky. Phelps is my new partner and Bekowsky has just been promoted to homicide."

Francine smiled politely and extended her hand to each of them. "Pleased to meet you, gentlemen."

"You're a writer for the Inquisitor?" Cole asked, intrigued. "Which section?"

"Human Interest," She replied, searching his face for any sign of disapproval. She didn't find any.

"Wait, you're not Frankie Sharp are you?" Stefan asked, the lightbulb finally clicking on.

"In fact I am," she said as she turned her gaze to the newly minted homicide detective.

"You broke the story on that scumbag Bob Sachs. You're a pretty heavy hitter," said Stefan, surprised and definitely impressed. "I had no idea Frankie Sharp was a woman."

"I don't make a point of advertising it," she told him, taking a sip of her drink. "My father is a very private man. He doesn't like our family to be in the spotlight."

"That's funny coming from someone who owns a new syndicate," Cole pointed out.

"Ironic huh?" Snorted Roy as he lit up a cigarette. "Anyway, why don't you two join us for a drink?"

Cole glanced over to Stefan who he could tell was captivated on the blonde in front of him. It was obvious his friend wanted to stay. One drink wouldn't take long, he convinced himself.

…

One drink turned into two, then three, and pretty soon they were delving into less polite topics like Mickey C. and the war on drugs. The conversation eventually evolved into a heated back-and-fourth between Cole and Roy. It seemed the white and black knights were pitted against each other once more.

Stefan looked over to Francine who seemed bored by the two men's squabble. Frankly, she had enough of Roy snapping at her for the evening and was staying out of any conversations involving touchy subjects.

The next band of the night came out to play and Stefan seized this opportunity to break away from Cole and Roy.

"It looks like this old married couple has a lot to discuss and I'm not one for politics at the dinner table. Would you like to dance, Miss Sharp?" He asked.

The warm strains of 'Unforgettable' filled the room, tempting couples to head to the floor in front of the stage.

"Frankie doesn't really dance, Bekowsky," Roy informed him, a mean smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Francine looked from Roy to the handsome man beside her and held out her hand.

"I'm in a good mood, why not?" She said, allowing a very smug Stefan to lead her to the dance floor.

"She just wants to prove a point. Broads always do." Roy muttered to Cole, seeming agitated. In that moment, he was envious of Bekowsky. In all his years knowing her, he had never once seen Francine dance and suddenly she was accepting requests from no-named homicide detectives on a whim. Still, the day he let himself be envious of that Polack was the day he rolled over and died, so he waved it off.

…

Finding an empty space among the other couples, Stefan placed his hand on the small of Francine's back and took her manicured hand in the other. He began to lead her in a slow, gentle, dance.

"Now that you've got me alone, what's on your mind, Detective Bekowsky?" Francine asked, a coy smile tugging at her lips. She was onto his game and cut right to the chase. Stefan liked that.

"I guess I was wondering why a gorgeous woman like you would ever choose to date an asshole like Roy Earle." Stefan smirked.

A dazzling smile spread across the reporter's velvet red lips as she let out a laugh.

"I see you disapprove of him. Then let me ask you, what type of man should I be interested in?" She questioned. Those green eyes darkened seductively and Stefan's heart began to race.

"I don't really have an answer to that, except maybe find one who has a moral conscience." He said, gently spinning her out then back into his arms. They were quite close now. Francine could smell his lemon and bergamot cologne and the sweet scent of whisky on his breath.

"That's a tall order in this city," she told him, looking into his blue eyes. "I've interviewed everything from movie stars, to junkies, to junkie movie stars and all of them are only looking after themselves. So detective, would you happen to be one of these morally uncorrupt men that you're talking about?"

"Not by a long shot. But I try to do the right thing every now and then," He said with a soft smile.

Francine hoped he could not see her blush in the low lighting. She liked his sense of humor. In her opinion, not enough men had one these days. Just as that thought crossed her mind, the song came to an end.

The last notes hung in the air for a moment before the band slipped into another slow, jazzy, number. Francine and Stefan paused. Her eyes flitted uncertainly from her hand on his shoulder to his soft gaze. She didn't want to pull away, even though she knew she should.

"Would you like to dance another?" Stefan asked, hoping he was not pushing his luck.

"Alright," She said.

Roy wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it, she was sure, but Francine really didn't care.

After a minute, Stefan saw a coy smile tug at her lips. He was going to ask her what she was thinking about but she spoke before he could.

"I have to confess something. This isn't the first time we've met," she told him.

"What?" the Polish detective's eyes widened in disbelief. "That can't be true."

"It is," she assured him, enjoying his look of shock. "After the Zoot Suit Riots, I heard about a policeman who earned the LAPD Medal for Heroism. I called to interview you over the phone but as I recall you said if Frankie Sharp couldn't be bothered to conduct the interview himself, not to bother. You probably thought I was some dumb secretary. I was so embarrassed, I hung up."

Stefan thought for a moment before his jaw dropped in realization. He actually remembered that strange conversation. She sounded so meek over the phone and he was in a terrible mood that day. He bet if he spoke to her like that now she'd rightfully put him in his place.

"God, I'm a ass," he muttered, cursing himself for his stupidity.

"You were one of the first people I ever tried to interview. I was under a lot of pressure to do a good job so I was incredibly clumsy over the phone with you. Lets just chalk it up to a learning experience."

"I'm sorry I was a jerk," he apologized. She thought the sheepish look on his face was quite cute.

"It's alright, as you can see, I was able to manage just fine. You might get a second chance to make amends if I ever decide to interview you again," she told him. "But just know, I won't put up with any attitude next time."

"I'll try to be on my best behavior," he promised her, a grin tugged at his full lips.

He guided her into another gentle spin. When she came back into his arms, she fixed those gorgeous eyes on him.

"I will hold you to that, detective," she told him, her tone heady.

The song ended and Stefan held onto her a moment longer than he ought. He saw her cheeks flush red before she finally took a step back.

"Your friend is probably looking to be rescued from Roy by now," she told him.

Stefan had to agree with her. Once the two got back to the booth, Roy started to sarcastically clap for them.

"Great show you two, next you'll be training for the icecapades."

"Yeah, you'll have to provide us with the costumes, though," Stefan told him. "Whatever you got in your closet should be perfect."

Instead of returning fire Roy just smiled in that unnerving way of his. Stefan knew he'd pay for that one later.

"Please excuse me, I'm going to go powder my nose. You boys play nice while I'm gone," Francine said before leaving.

"Your girl is really something, Earle," Stefan said as he sat down in the booth next to Cole.

"Get a grip Bekowsky, Frankie's not my girl," Roy told him snidely.

Stefan did his best not to look surprised. It was probably the best news he heard all day.

"Don't get me wrong, she and I have had our fun, but our relationship is more business oriented," Roy explained.

"You mean you supply her with important case details for her articles," Cole accused.

"I supply her with nothing the press won't already get wind of. At least this way the LAPD has some control over the stories that come out. You know how reporters are. They find out about a gruesome murder or a corrupt official and they're like a dog with a bone."

"Of course, and I'm sure you tell her just how to spin things in your favor," Cole muttered, turning his glass of whisky in his hand.

Roy had to laugh at Cole's ignorance. "Trust me, Cole, you can't tell that broad to do anything. Whatever she publishes that makes me look good is pure reciprocity on her end. Don't worry, someday she'll marry a man richer than she is who'll rightfully show her the back of his hand. Until then, Frankie does what she wants."

Stefan grit his teeth at Roy's remark. He hated men who ruffed up women and he was certain Roy had no problem smacking a girl around if he thought she was out of line. It was hard to imagine why Francine liked Roy. He doubted the man had many good hidden qualities about him. Maybe she was merely using him as an inside source, though he doubted it. They had some sort of tie to one another.

Francine returned to the table shortly thereafter and tucked herself into the booth beside Stefan who had politely made room for her.

"What did I miss?" She asked, looking across the table to Roy who was smoking a cigarette. The devil was in his smile.

"Not a thing," Roy said, taking a drag of his Pall Mall.

Francine knew this meant they were talking about her. She wasn't going to press them on it, though. Men would be men after all.

…

The night was winding down and the final band took the stage. The three detectives and Francine headed into the lobby. It was time to call it a night.

The reporter approached the coat check where she handed her claim ticket to a redheaded woman behind the counter. The woman politely smiled at her before heading in the back to grab her stole.

Stefan walked up beside Francine and casually leaned against the counter. She continued to look forwards and tried to control the fact that her heart was speeding up. It seemed whatever Roy told him about her hadn't deterred him.

"So, you and Earle are not dating?" he asked looking down at her.

A small smile formed on her lips. It would seem he had found her out. "No."

"I'd like to see you again," he told her, his voice low so only she could hear him.

Francine looked over her shoulder at the two detectives waiting near the door. Roy caught her eye. He looked pretty satisfied with himself. She turned back to the counter and placed a book of matches on top of it before discretely pushing it an inch in Stefan's direction. The redhead appeared from the back room with a black stole in her hands.

"It was nice meeting you, Detective Bekowsky. Thanks for the dance." she told him before collecting her stole and heading towards the door.

Stefan grabbed up the matchbook and pocketed it before he joined the trio at the door.

"You ready, Frankie?" Roy asked.

Francine wrapped herself up in her warm stole and turned to Stefan and Cole. "It was a pleasure, gentlemen. Have a good evening."

Her eyes lingered on Stefan for a moment longer before taking Roy's offered arm.

"I'll see you boys tomorrow, where more junkies and stiffs await us," said Roy, somehow amused by the idea.

Cole wanted to admonish him for saying such things in front of a lady, but remembered Francine wrote about that type of thing quite often. Once Roy and Francine we're out the door, he turned to Stefan who seemed both pleased with himself and vexed.

"So, what did she give you?" Cole asked giving him a knowing look.

Stefan should have figured he'd notice her slip him the book of matches. His former partner was too smart for his own good. He reached into his pocket then and pulled them out. Opening the flap, he grinned seeing that she'd written her number on the inside along with here initials- FS. Francine must have written her number in the matchbook when she said she was going to the powder room.

"Congratulations, Bekowsky. You must have made quite an impression," said Cole, patting him on the back.

Stefan tried to reign in his silly grin as he tucked the book of matches back in his pocket.

"I guess I did," he murmured, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky.

 **AN:** Review Favor Follow! I know I'm late getting on the LA Noire train but hey, here I am. I may just leave this as a oneshot. If you'd like to read more, let me know!


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